In 1995, my cousins moved in with us. One of my cousins shared a room with me. Every night, she would put on a mixtape of quieter alternative songs from bands like Alice In Chains, Nirvana, Bush, the Cranberries, Pearl Jam, Smashing Pumpkins and Red Hot Chili Peppers. In the daytime, she would blast louder music. It was the first I ever really connected with music. I liked the messy chaos and angst and obscure lyrics of alternative music. I think I burned a hole in Nirvana’s Nevermind album from listening to it so much in my discman.
A year or two later, one of my friends played me a Ramones album and I fell in love. I still love alternative but punk is the music of my soul. I am a punk. It was the first identity I found for myself and still one proudly wear today. I listen to the Misfits every morning and the Pogues, Generation X, Rancid, Bikini Kill, Operation Ivy, NOFX, and the Clash when I shower.
Punk gives me energy and motivates me. It makes me feel braver than I really am. I don’t wear ripped fish net tights under a plaid skirt with a band shirt and Doc Martens anymore. I don’t get in fist fights and go to shows in tiny shady venues or people’s basements. But I still have punk tendencies toward rebellion and dissent. It’s still in there. I still have a riot in my heart.
When life overwhelms, punk rock is the first thing I reach for. In 2013, I got a ton of bad news and was in so much bone pain that I was literally bedridden some days. I was scared and needed to make some very hard decisions about my health and my life. I wasn’t feeling very brave. I needed to reawaken the punk in me.
My hair was bright red for my senior year of high school. I couldn’t find a picture at the time but I wanted my hair to be that red again. A friend from high school is now a stylish. I asked her if she remembered what color my hair was and could she replicate it without a picture. She did and she could. In November 2013, we cut off eight inches of long light brown hair and painted the remaining hair fire engine red. Punk rock. And just like that, I found my courage.
This year has been so, so difficult. I could not have predicted how much energy I would expend taking care of someone who is dying. A lot of things in my life had to be abandoned for the time being so that I could focus on my family and my health, including a lot of my MastAttack responsibilities. I will resume them at some point.
I’m sitting here at 4am with bright red and purple hair, wearing an Operation Ivy shirt, listening to Rancid and the Misfits, hoping that it will give me the courage I need to survive this year.